Early Morning Light
by hopefulwriter27
Summary: REPOST: The love of a child changes House.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Early Morning Light

Author: obsessiveluv27

Rating: R (language, sex, and violence)

Summary: They say loves changes a person for the better. Well, romantic love just sat beside House providing nothing but a pleasant distraction, friendship-based love shook his hand but not much else, and the love of his parents slid off of him like water to a duck. Can the love for a child work a miracle?

Pairing: House/OFC… but there really isn't a pairing to this story, though I might put one in later.

Author's note: This is my try at a kid story.

Ch 1

The first time, he picked her up on his bike. She was young, perhaps twenty, but he didn't really care. He picked her because he hadn't had a red-head in a while, and she had big tits. Her prices were acceptable- one hundred dollars for a blowjob, one-fifty for intercourse- with a condom, of course. Of course he had told her; after all he was a doctor. He knew the importance of safe sex.

He took her back to his place; she commented on the location and the interior. She asked if he lived there alone. He told her to shut up. She asked for the money, and began what she was being paid to do.

She was good- he'd have to give her that. He almost came from the heat of her mouth and the vision of her bright-red hair, probably dyed, gliding up and down his erection. But he had paid the hundred and fifty bucks for the intercourse, so with some reluctance he stopped her, then verbally shoved her to the bedroom. The sex was good too. Not the best he ever had, but definitely worth the money. When they were finished, he laid back on his bed and complimented her on her cock-sucking techniques, but told her she could use some work in the fucking department. She smiled at him and told him she'd practice more. He couldn't tell if she was serious or not. She left, with him still lying on the bed. When he finally got up, it was to eat some Pop Tarts and watch a rerun of The OC. When he got up to throw away his wrapper, he noticed a name and number written on a piece of paper on his coffee table- Jenny, 579-5294.

The second time was after he started using his cane again. He was in pain, and, whether that pain was real or not, he wanted some pleasure to help him forget. Her number had been shoved under a pile of old bills, sitting forgotten until he needed it. When he called she seemed a bit surprised, she never expected him to call, but told him she would be over in 30 minutes. She obviously remembered him because she said nothing the entire night except to ask for her money. It wasn't long after she left that the pain returned. Sex was only a temporary relief.

The third time he picked her up on his bike again. Ever since he had seen the blonde teenager's milky tears, and realized her infatuation with him stemmed from an infection not lust, he had been feeling a sense of inadequacy. He went specifically looking for her, and when he found her she had dyed her hair a different shade of red. He told her he liked the other way better and shoved the money into her hand. When they got back to his place he surprised her by telling her to scream and moan as loud as she could. He fucked her so hard and fast that he couldn't get out of bed the next day without taking three Vicodin. It was worth it however, because he could hear his worth as a man in the echo of her whimpers.

The fourth time he called her and told her if she got there in the next ten minutes he would pay her double. It was after he had spent the night in jail. He was pissed off at that idiotic cop, and needed to relieve his built up stress. She showed up at his doorstep seven minutes later, not as pretty as normal, and toting along a kid. She told him she couldn't find someone to watch the boy and that he could just watch TV or something while they 'did their business.' After several long seconds of staring at the pair in his doorway, he motioned them inside and walked into his bedroom. She came in and shut the door. "You're a horrible mother." He grabbed her head and roughly nipped at her neck. She made some noises and House vaguely understood she was trying to defend herself. Some other time he might have cared. Some other time he would have argued with her. Today he had so much pent-up aggression and tension the only thing on his mind was sex. He fucked her quietly because her kid was in the next room, but he nevertheless fucked her.

When he was finished he made his way to the bathroom to clean up and when he came out the kid was still on the floor reading a colorful-looking book. The hooker was still in his bedroom, and he took a moment to look the kid over. The first thing he noticed, besides the age- about five- was the color of his hair. Mom might be a natural red-head after all. The kid had curly brown hair with auburn streaks that would seem red in the right light. His mom stuck her head out the bedroom and told him to get his stuff together. He nodded his head and put his book and a half-eaten sandwich into a plastic Wal-Mart bag, paying no mind to the strange man staring at him.

"Your mom, she do this a lot?" He wanted to know, so he asked.

"Sometimes." The answer was short, softly spoken and accompanied by a shrug of the little shoulders. The mom came out of the room and took her son's hand. She glanced back at her client and then left.

He fell asleep easily that night, not thinking at all of the red-haired whore and her son. After all, they weren't very interesting. There was no puzzle, no mystery. She was just someone he used, and the kid was someone he would never meet again.

It's funny how fast things can change.


	2. Chapters 2 through 4

Chapter 2

Time seemed to slow down for House. The cop, Tritter, became a thorn under his thumb that he couldn't quite catch; it seemed no matter how sharp and pointed the tweezers he used to grab at the thorn, all he accomplished was making himself bleed. He was fighting with Wilson, his Vicodin supply was being dispensed by the bosomy Wicked Witch of the West, and his minions seemed to be more annoying that usual. He completely denied any of his problems came from his use of Vicodin (the most wonderful drug known to man). Not to mention he hadn't had sex in weeks. Hell, even his right hand was missing its customary action. He felt that he was in a bubble rolling towards Hell and he had no idea how he got into the bubble to begin with. All he knew was that everything was somehow Tritter's fault.

He had left work that day feeling that the bubble had closed in on him. He had gotten a case wrong. The little girl had been allergic to light and he hadn't even thought of that solution. His blond Aussie had fitted the puzzle pieces together and that left him feeling something he couldn't quite give a name to. He reassured himself that the feeling definitely wasn't guilt…or jealousy. His leg pained him the entire ride back to his apartment, and even riding his beloved motorcycle gave him no joy today. He could never handle professional failure well. Probably because it was a rare event.

When he got home he opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and grabbed his favorite coffee cup (that Wilson had bought him), sat himself in front of the television and planned to spend the rest of the night there getting drunk and watching his latest TiVo episodes of General Hospital. Halfway into the second episode and about a third of a bottle later, someone knocked on his door. He ignored the knocking, took another sip from his red mug, and turned the volume up a little louder. The knocking continued, and continued. When he decided he was truly annoyed he pushed pause, and got up to yell at whoever was at the door.

Deciding not to pick up his cane (it was _really_ far away), he hopped over to the front door and looked through the peephole to see who would dare bother him while he was drinking and watching _the_ Hospital. At first all he saw was a haze of red. He pulled back in confusion and then looked again. This time he saw a face. A familiar face.

He opened the door and spoke pointedly. "I didn't invite you here. I have no money. Leave." He slammed the door in her face. Sighing dramatically he thought, _'What's the world coming to when hookers show up to your door uninvited and unwanted?"_ Planning to return to his comfortable spot on the couch, he had turned around. The knocks started up again, booming through the wood door and vibrating across his apartment. He would have ignored the knocks and the woman causing them if the sound wasn't so appallingly loud. Making a decision to find out why the woman was here, he sighed in irritation and opened the door. "What do you want?"

She seemed surprised that he actually asked her this. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. Her hair swished softly when her head turned to look behind her. He followed her gaze and saw a small body standing behind her. His eyes narrowed. "Well?" he snapped with an exaggerated facial expression.

"Umm, well, I have to go to this thing, it's like really important…. and , I was wondering if I could leave him here for a little bit. Just like an hour," she asked in a rush and threw some of her bright-red hair over her shoulder.

Was she kidding? He almost laughed in her face, but instead said, "No."

"Oh, well, uh… he isn't much trouble. It's not like you actually have to watch him. He just needs a place to stay, while I'm out and stuff. I'll give ya a free blowjob." This was also said in a flash and in front of her kid. House must have been drunker than he thought for the next thing out of his mouth certainly didn't come from his brain.

"A free blowjob and two free…" a glace down at the kid changed his words slightly "…sessions."

"What! _Two?_….. No! That's like three hundred bucks!"

"Well, I guess this is goodnight then…" He made to shut the door. Her hand came out to stop its process

"Wait! Okay, okay. Fine. Here." She pushed the kid in front of her and into the doorway. "I'll be back later." With that she walked down the hall, the heels of her boots clicking the entire way. W hen she was out of sight he closed the door and made his way back to the couch. The kid stood still clutching a shopping bag with a Target logo on the side, looking for the entire world like a lost puppy.

With a roll of his eyes, and a mental questioning of his sanity, House spoke to the kid. "So, it looks like we'll be spending some time together." He waited for a response, and when he got none, he continued. "What's your name, kid?"

The kid looked up. "Bran."

Not a talkative one then, which suited him fine. "Wanna watch General Hospital?" A nod from the small one. He waved the kid over and poured himself another drink.

"You know, alcohol is bad for you." The noise came from right beside him. The boy was sitting next to him on the couch; he sure moved fast.

"I'm a doctor. I know what I'm doing." He took another sip. "Besides I'm forty-five. How old are you? Two?"

This earned a smile and a shake of the head. "No, I'm six."

"Ah, six, you must be very wise then." Another smile, and suddenly House was feeling a bit better. He put his drink on the table and turned towards his show. "Are you hungry?"

He didn't get an answer, but he watched the kid's curls bounce as he reached into his bag and seemed to be looking for something. He pulled out a zip-locked peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He opened the bag with great care, pulled out both halves of the sandwich, and promptly handed over one half to House.

House took a bite and grimaced. The bread was stale. However, he knew what would make it better. "Go get the Doritos from the pantry." He pointed to the kitchen area and watched as the boy hopped up and moved out of sight. Sounds of a closet opening and a moment of silence, then the kid was back handing him the large bag of chips. Okay, this wasn't too bad. Like a little slave.

Once the kid settled back on the couch House set the bag between them and turned his attention back to the screen. They sat in silence eating chips and their own half of sandwich, enjoying the drama of the screen. This babysitting was a piece of cake; it was completely worth a free blowjob and two free screws. When the episode ended he looked over at the kid and saw that he had fallen asleep. House picked up the empty bag of chips and threw it on the table, put the cap on the bottle of Jack Daniels and waited for Mom to show up. He closed his eyes thinking about how soon a hot mouth would be making him even feel better.

Chapter 3

It was the sound of laughter that woke him. At first he thought he was dreaming it, but then his rationality kicked in and he knew there was no way in hell he would dream of a child's laugh. The laugh would last for several seconds then fade away, only to return a few seconds later. He opened his eyes expecting to see the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom and instead found himself looking at the black screen of his television. He remembered- the hooker had left her kid here. He brought a hand up to rub at his face and looked around the room to find the kid. He didn't see him, so with a groan he reached over and grabbed his cane and made his way towards the sound.

The laughter seemed to be coming from his kitchen, so that's where he went. The sight that greeted him was somewhat unexpected. The kid was sitting at the table playing with Steve McQueen. He was putting the rat in his lap, only to have Steve run up his wrinkled shirt to sit on his neck, which was causing the laughter. The boy would then lift Steve off and put him on his lap, only to start the whole thing over again. House narrowed his eyes in disgust at the scene before him and went to pick Steve up. "The rat's mine." He put him back into his cage with a scowl. "Besides, it's unsanitary to have a rat at the kitchen table."

"But you're the one who keeps him in the kitchen!" the kid protested. House glared at him, but the boy just glared right back. Kids these days - they had no respect for their elders.

"What time is it? Where's your mom?" House asked with a glance to the clock- 6:10 am. What an awful time to be awake.

"I dunno." The kid brought his feet up to lie on the chair, wrapped his arms around them, and let his chin rest on his knees. "We both fell asleep. Do you think she came and we didn't hear her knock?" The inquiry was full of worry.

Thinking back on how loud the mother's knocking was the previous night, he doubted it. With another glance to the clock to reaffirm the time, House said, "It has been a bit longer than an hour. More like eight hours in fact." He moved over to the refrigerator to look inside. "Does she have a cell phone? I'll call her." A look over his shoulder and House saw the kid's face brighten and an expression of what he would label as concentration appeared.

"Umm, 5-7-9-5-2-9-4" Each number was said slowly and with a pride only a child could muster when reciting a memorized fact. It was the same number she had given him to call for her services. Bad form, mixing business with family, but what could he expect from a hooker?

House pulled out a carton of orange juice and shut the door with a push of his cane. He took out two glasses and poured the citrus drink in- one to the rim and the other about half full. He picked up the full one, pulled one of his last pills out of his jeans pocket, and drank them both down in one go. The sugar immediately made him feel more awake, and he knew that the pill would soon do its job to take away the sting. The other glass he gave to the blue-eyed one sitting at his kitchen table.

The kid took a sip and asked "Why is mine only half full?"

Ungrateful brat. "Because you're short, that's why. Now be quiet, I'm going to call your mom." He patted down his pockets in search of his cell phone. When he didn't find it he made his way to his jacket that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs. _Ahh-ha, there it was, sitting in the inside pocket_, House thought. He called the hooker. The phone rang, and rang…. and rang until a sleepy "Hello?" was heard.

"I've kidnapped your kid. I want two million dollars in ransom by midnight." He peeked back at the kid to see his reaction to his words. He was just staring at him; that was no fun. Kid's weren't meant to be this serious.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He heard some rustling and a few words about missing clothes and then, "Is Bran ok? I'll be there soon." She ended the conversation by hanging up the phone, and House thought her exit was abrupt.

"Well, it looks like your mom forgot about you; she's on her way. Go sit on the couch or something. I'm going to take a shower; some people have to go to work." It was amazing how much could be read in the small blue eyes- hurt, sadness, fear. "Oh, alright, fine; let's eat breakfast first." A smile from the short one, manipulative bastard.

"Do you have eggs? I really like eggs, and I could help make them! _And_ I can put the toast in the toaster." He didn't talk this much last night. House didn't answer, but he pulled out a frying pan and a bag of bread.

"The eggs are in the fridge." The kid sat there. "Well…aren't you going to get them?"

"_Yes!_" The excitement in his voice was obvious. He got the eggs out and handed the blue carton to House. In return House handed him the bread and pointed to the toaster. After a few seconds he watched as the kid pulled a chair over to the counter and popped the bread into the toaster. They both worked in silence - House making scrambled eggs, and the boy watching the toaster, making sure the toast came out a perfect golden-brown. When the food was finished they both sat at the table eating, and enjoying their breakfast. Occasionally, House would open his mouth and stick out his tongue, revealing the chewed food inside his mouth. The boy would make a face and in turn reveal his own food back to House.

The red-headed hooker showed up as they were finishing breakfast, wearing the same clothes as the night before. When House opened the door to let her in, he couldn't help but make a comment. "It's good to know you can read a clock. An hour, nine hours, pretty much the same right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm so sorry. Bran, get your things together baby, mommy is sorry she's late" As the boy went into the living room to gather his belongings she pulled House near the sink in the kitchen. "Listen, I got caught up at my meeting and fell asleep. Thanks for watching him. Do you want some before I leave?" All House thought was, _a meeting, yeah right._

He thought about her offer for a minute then replied. "I want another two free blowjobs besides the other things we agreed upon." At her outraged expression he continued. "Your kid spent the night, which was completely not in my plans for last night. I had to feed him and put up with him all night long." Okay, so technically the kid slept most of the time, but hey – if he could get more out of the deal, why not? "I don't want your _services_ now, but come back later tonight."

She gave him a pissed off look but reluctantly agreed. "Fine, I'll be back at eight." She pulled away from him and he watched silently as she took her son and left his apartment. He put the remaining dishes in the sink and made his way to the shower. He felt gritty and gross, but the pain in his leg had retreated for the moment, and he could go to work that day knowing that he had a willing (and free) body to come to that night. A smile graced his face and he found himself whistling in the shower.

Chapter 4

Bounce….thwap….bounce….thwap….bounce….thwap. The only sound that could be heard in the fishbowl of a room was that of House bouncing his softball-sized blue and red ball. Bounce…against the wall and thwap…hitting his hand as he caught the ball, only to throw it again. To passers-by it looked like the doctor was goofing off, playing a child's game of one-person catch. But to those who knew him well, they knew he was deep in thought, the ball an outlet for his overactive brain. The ball was seen most often when a difficult case was on the table, and House was racking his brain for minute details and atypical solutions. Today, however, the Diagnostics Department of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had no case, and consequently neither did House.

House was thinking about something else, which made sense because a lot was happening in his life at the moment. He and Wilson had "broken up," his ducklings were turning rebellious, and Mommy Dearest had given him an ultimatum. He had to attend two months of drug rehab, or take an undefined amount of suspension time. He didn't want to do either, and was currently thinking up ways to get out of both. He wasn't having much luck. Finally, after what seemed like hours of thought, the grumpy man decided that he would try to guilt the demon-mistress of the hospital into changing her mind.

Luckily or unluckily, depending on viewpoint, Cuddy was alone in her office. He barged into the orangey-looking room without a knock or so much as a hello, and started in with his tirade. "This is ridiculous… and you know it! You are letting Tritter win!"

"No."

"No… what does that mean? My statement wasn't a yes or no question." This was said with arms out to emphasize his point.

"No. No, you aren't going to weasel your way out of this House. Tritter offered rehab, which I think you need, instead of jail time, and I think you should take it." She got up from her desk to stand in front of him. "If you don't take it I'm suspending you."

"Tritter is just out to get me, and you know it! He knows that he can't send me to jail - because he has nothing on me - and he offered the next best thing to get me out of the hospital!"

"It's gone beyond Tritter!" She was raising her voice again, "I don't care about him anymore. _You_ need help. You're addicted to the pills."

"I'm not addicted to the pills! Must I remind you that I'm in constant _pain_? Pain which is caused by having a piece of my leg muscle taken out. Hmm, who was the one who removed it again?" He was shouting now too, and a few nurses were beginning to stop and stare into the office.

"That won't work. I'm doing what's best for you. You have two days to decide what you are going to do. Rehab for two months, or indefinite suspension. Go home and think about it. Now." She pointed to the door of her office, and for once he could see no way out of this situation.

"Fine, I'm going home." He knew she would regret her decision, but he couldn't help but be angry at her and at Wilson for falling into Tritter's trap. He thought he taught them better than to fall for people's bullshit.

He went back up to his office to get his coat and backpack and thought about how he would have to spend the rest of the day in his empty, quiet apartment. Good thing he knew a hooker who owed him free sex. He called her on the hospital phone and was about to hang up when she answered. "Hello?"

"I want you to be at my place in twenty minutes."

"What? Who is this?"

She forgot who he was already, ouch. "It's your loving stalker. You owe me free blowjobs and sex. I want to cash in."

"Oh, it's you. I already told you I would be over at eight tonight. Aren't you working anyway?"

"Awe, how sweet - the hooker cares about me. I don't want you at eight; I want you in twenty minutes. It's my free sex and I get it when I want it. That's your job."

"God, you're such an asshole." She sighed into the phone but said, "Fine, I'll be there soon." The dial tone of the phone rung in his ear and he didn't bother to hang up the phone. He just left the hospital and made his way home. Sex was something to keep out the boredom for some time at least.

When he got home she was already waiting in front of his door. She gave him a pissed off look and commented on his absence and how she had to wait outside in the cold. He tried to give her a caring look, but he didn't really think he succeeded. _Ah, oh well, his heart wasn't in it anyway_, House thought. As he was opening his door he asked, "No kid? He off playing hooker with Daddy today?"

She gave him another pissed off look and replied, "He doesn't have a dad. Bran's in school." School, he had forgotten about that. Good, that meant they didn't have even have to go into the bedroom for the sex.

He sat down on the couch and turned to the hooker. "Get started." He closed his eyes and waited for his amusement to begin. He felt her hands on his legs, and he grabbed her arms. "No touching, just suck me." A brief pause, and then he sighed in gratification. It felt good. In fact this was way better than being at work.

When she was finished, she tucked him away and zipped his pants back up. An all-service type of girl. She asked him if she could get a drink and he pointed her to the kitchen with a raised eyebrow and told her help herself. She came back with a Mountain Dew and sat down on the couch beside him. He would have told her off, but he was feeling generous after the incredible blowjob. He didn't however, spare her from some of the questions that had been on his mind. "So, do you always leave your kid with strangers?"

She was taken off guard by the question but answered quickly. "What? No, of course not."

"Yes, that's why you left him here, at my place, someone who pays you for sex."

"Yeah, but you're different. You're a doctor, you take an oath to do no harm and stuff like that." She said this like it meant something special.

"Of course - I'm a doctor! It's not like a doctor can do something bad, and someone who makes a promise always follows through with it." God, was she really that stupid? Probably, most people were.

She looked at him a moment like he was speaking a foreign language, but then smiled like he had said the funniest thing, and replied, "I'm going to go. Do you want to make an appointment for the next time?"

"An appointment? Do you have a little planner that you write 'fuck John at two, anal sex with Mike at five?'"

At this she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I was only trying to be polite."

"A polite hooker, spare me. I don't want you for your manners or conversational skills."

"I'll take that as a no." She moved to leave, but turned around to ask one last question. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Why so you can scream it out while your other customers are fucking you?"

She squinted her eyes in annoyance, but stood her ground. "No Bran, he wanted to know."

Oh, the kid. When it looked like he wasn't going to answer, she shook her head and walked out the door. "House. Greg House." She glanced back at his declaration and gave him a quick grin.

"Thanks." She waved goodbye to him, and he ignored her and closed the door. He went into the kitchen and let Steve out of his cage; he needed some more distraction before he began to think of another plan to remedy his situation at the hospital. As he was sitting there he suddenly remembered that it was just this morning he had told the kid off for playing with the rat. Picking Mr. McQueen off the counter he sat down in a chair and put him in his lap. He smiled as the rat ran up to sit near his neck.


	3. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Despite the sex and emotional drama of the day before, House couldn't seem to fall asleep. He tried food, alcohol, television; Hell, he even tried a warm glass of milk, but sleep was evading him. The pain in his leg was worsening, and he only had two pills left in his small orange prescription bottle. There were multiple times throughout the night he thought about calling the hooker back, but he knew he couldn't get it up again.

Eventually, around eight-thirty in the morning, about nine hours since he had first tried to fall asleep, House finally found himself on the couch drifting away into the blackness the dream world brought. Re-runs of _Gilligan's Island_ played on the television in low tones, and by the time _Golden Girls_ came on at nine, House was finally free of the pain and fast asleep. So needless to say he was a bit pissed off when strong knocks on his front door woke him up at ten o'clock. His eyes snapped open, the evidence of his restless night under his baby-blues, and he gave the door a death glare. If it had been alive it would have collapsed in fright. Finally, when he could take no more of the pounding, and the thought of yelling at the person on the other side of the door sounded more appealing than just sitting there, he got up and opened the door.

There was a large black man standing in his doorway. The stranger was dressed in a light gray fitted suit with a green tie. House just stared at him for a moment then bellowed "Yes?" in a tone that conveyed his annoyance.

The man didn't change his serious expression, but he did ask a question. "Are you Dr. House?"

"No, I'm his wife, Mrs. House. He's not here right now but if you come back later I'm sure he would love to chat."

Still the man's expression didn't change. He just spoke again, "Dr. House, I'm Detective Ron Jacobson." He offered his hand, which House just looked at as though it were covered in an interesting substance. The man dropped his hand and continued like nothing had happened. "I'm an IA Agent, I wanted to talk with you about Detective Tritter and his treatment of your case." He offered his hand again. "May I come in?"

An IA agent? This was good. House took the offered hand and gave the man a hearty handshake. He opened the door fully and moved aside. "Please come in. I was just about to make some coffee, would you like some?"

"Sure, a cup of coffee sounds good." House moved through the kitchen while telling the agent to sit down at the table.

While he was putting the coffee in the coffee maker, House struck up a bit of conversation with the man. "So, Tritter is being investigated by the IA?"

"I can't tell you the details of the investigation, Dr. House, but I would like to ask you some questions about Detective Tritter's actions towards you, as well as what he has told you about your case."

"Please Detective Jacobson, call me Greg. Dr. House is such a formal title. Would you like any milk or sugar in your coffee?"

"Just black for me please." House gave the man his coffee and sat down across the table from him. "I would love to help you, Detective. Just ask away." This was going to be fun.

"So then he told me that Tritter has not one, not two, three or even four serious cases against him, but five." He held up a hand and pointed to each finger. "Five serious complaints of abuse, negligence, and use of false evidence against him." House grinned happily at his attentive audience and twirled his cane. The faces of his ducklings stared back at him, all showing varying degrees of shock.

His neurologist spoke first. "Damn, that man was a jerk he deserves everything he gets." A shake of his head and then there was a grin on his face too.

The pretty one, well, the pretty girl, spoke next. "So everything against you has been dropped? No rehab?" He could tell she was happy for him by the up-turn of her lips and the shine in her eyes.

"Nope. No rehab, no jail. At least, not for me. Maybe for Tritter." A larger grin, more cane twirling and House stole some of Cameron's mini-cookies.

"Well, that's great. You can come back to work now." An Australian accent filled the diagnostic room.

"Aw, did my little wombat miss me?" House reached up and patted Chase's head. "It's okay, Daddy's back now and he'll take care of you." A slightly wounded look filled Chase's eyes, but a moment later he looked upward and the hurt look was replaced with an annoyed one. Squinting his eyes, the blonde sent House an evil look and got up to pour himself more coffee. House was sure his youngest team member was silently cursing him. It sent a feeling of smugness through his body.

"So which one of you is going to write me a prescription for my happy pills?"

"Do you think we should be doing that so soon?" Cameron, always the worry-wart.

"The charges have been dropped. He should be able to get his pills." Chase finished his statement by pulling out his prescription pad and writing. Chase always was his favorite.

House took the prescription out of the blonde's hand and patted him on the head again. "Good boy. That's why you're Daddy's favorite." He said this with a glance at Cameron. She just rolled her eyes at both of them.

"Okay, you stay here and start on the case, and I'll go get my yummies." With that said, House, holding his prescription tightly in hand, made his way down to the pharmacy.

As soon as the container was in his hand he popped open the cap and took one of his precious pills. The only thing to spoil his fun was the appearance of Cuddy with an angry look on her face. Ah, familiarity.

"House! What are you doing here? I told you not to come back to the hospital until you'd gone through rehab." She stormed over to stand in front of him.

"Yes, I recall something said of that nature. But things have changed. Tritter is being investigated by Internal Affairs and the charges against me have been dropped. I can have my Vicodin again." He clutched the bottle to him like a child with a teddy-bear.

"Yes, I know about Tritter. Detective Jacobson was here this morning asking me questions. However, that doesn't change anything. I told you before, this isn't about Tritter anymore. This is about you. You and Vicodin."

"A wonderful combination."

"Shut up, House. What I said still stands. You may not be legally obliged to go into rehab anymore, but you still are suspended until you go. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm sorry, did you say something? I was busy staring at your chest; can your shirt be anymore low-cut?"

"Get out, House. Now. If you don't go through rehab you can't work. You habits are going to get people killed. They are going to get you killed." She was no longer yelling and her voice came out steady and deep. God, she was serious.

"Cuddy…" he tried to plead.

"No, House. There will be no more 'convincing' or trying to weasel your way out of this. I'm your friend, and as a friend I want what's best for you. Go home and think about that." She walked away before he could think of anything to say, and he was left standing in the white hall surrounded by moving nurses and doctors. If she wouldn't let him work then fine. He would go out and enjoy his vacation while it lasted. He took out one more innocent pill and swallowed it dry.


	4. Chapters 6 and 7

Chapter 6

Even though House was still smarting over Cuddy's barbaric decision, he had to admit it wasn't all bad. Now that he had his unlimited supply of Vicodin again, he could spend hours in a drugged-out haze of painless pleasure. In fact, that was the only thing on his agenda for the afternoon. Drugs and pleasure. He had called his favorite red-haired prostitute over for a fun evening of orgasms. He planned to use up the rest of his bartered sex acts when she came, and he was already feeling euphoric from taking a few pills.

At the moment he was sitting in his kitchen reading a journal article about a medical trial done in India for Acute leukemia. A splotch of tomato sauce from his pizza had fallen one the page earlier, and another was about to appear. House did nothing to stop the food's descent. It was Wilson's journal after all. A knock on his door moved him from his seat, and he put the half-eaten slice of pizza on the page, the grease from the crust quickly seeped into the thin pages of one academic's finest. He would drop the journal over at Wilson's place tomorrow.

When he opened the door he once again was confronted with red. It was a color that seemed to be appearing more and more in his life - pizza sauce, blood, hookers. Not only was her hair bright red, but today she was wearing a tight crimson mini-skirt. At least the long-sleeved t-shirt was black. Though it was hard to focus on the shirt.

House stepped aside to give her room to come in. Then he spoke. "See that book at the bottom of my book shelf?"

Her look clearly stated he was crazy, but she responded nevertheless. "Which one? There are dozens."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I just want you to go pick one of them up. I want to see you bend over in that skirt. It can't possibly cover your ass." He pointed his cane to the bookshelf as if to remind her of her task.

She rolled her eyes but did what he asked anyway. "It doesn't cover my ass; that's the point." She spent a good amount of time picking out which book to take. House didn't mind at all; the view was nice. When she straightened up she gave him a knowing look and walked back over with the book. "Here ya go. One book."

He took the book and threw it on the coffee table. "Okay, now that's done. Let's fuck." He left her in the living room with those words. He expected her to follow him into the bedroom without question. She did.

"You don't want me to suck you first?" That was the norm.

"You can suck me after. I plan on coming more than once. You owe me quite a bit." She looked uncomfortable at his statement. She hadn't expected to be here all day.

"I thought it was hard for you to have sex." House didn't like that statement at all and gave her an unflattering look. She quickly amended her statement. "I meant that your leg hurts you and all. You're in pain, and because of that too much exercise is hard n' all."

"Aw, it's sweet of you to notice my pain." The taking off of his shirt accompanied his words. Before he took off his pants he pulled out his little orange bottle and shook it. "But I've got my buddies back. No pain today." He opened the bottle and swallowed one of the off-white tablets inside. "Not to mention that I also took another special pill called a Viagra. It's a miracle worker." He pushed off his pants and sat on the bed. "So there will be lots of sex today."

She looked at him for a moment an undecipherable expression on her face. "Okay, we'll go as many times as you can. But I have to leave by four."

"You have another trick? Should I feel insulted?"

"I have to pick up Bran from school. He has to stay after to practice for some show his class is putting on; it's over at four-thirty."

"A simple yes or no would have sufficed. I don't care about the details of your life." He leaned against the headboard with his legs out in front of him. He spread them wide. "Well that leaves us five hours. Plenty of time for multiple orgasms."

She nodded and kicked off her spiky shoes and slipped down her lacey panties. Not bothering to take off the rest of her clothes she climbed on the bed and straddled his body. Pushing her chest against his, her mouth latched onto his ear. Sucking and biting lightly, she whispered softy to him. "Can I have one of those pills?"

House's eyes widened and then narrowed. He was about to speak when the mouth moved from his ear to his neck. She sucked hard and all he could do was moan. Reaching out an arm he grabbed his Vicodin. Taking out two pills he popped one into her mouth and the other into his. She swallowed and lowered herself onto him. The world slowly faded into a blur of pleasure as his nerves tingled. Drugs and pleasure- just as he had planned.

Chapter 7

The sound of wind chimes brought him out of his afternoon nap, which was weird since he didn't have any wind chimes. Then once he was awake, he felt the pressure of another body in his bed. _That_ had him up and looking at the person next to him. It was the hooker, Jenny. (She had told him to stop caller her 'the hooker.') Not that he believed that was her real name, and he probably would still call her 'the hooker' even if her knew her name.

The wind chimes were hers. Well, they were her phone; it was ringing in her little black purse that had been dropped to the floor when she had started to undress. Pushing her arm House told her to get up. "Hey, wake up. Your phone is annoying me." She didn't move. Sighing he reached over her and picked up her purse.

Grabbed the phone he flipped it opened and answered it with an abrupt "Hello."

There was a pause on the other side and then a rush of words. "Who is this? Where's my mom? Why are you answering her phone?" Fuck, the kid. House took a quick glance at the digital clock on his night stand. It read '4:45'. Shit.

"Bran, right?" House poked the mom again; much harder this time. She let out a soft sigh, but still stayed motionless.

"How do you know my name?"

"This is Greg House. Do you remember me? You spent some time at my place, bonding with my rat."

"Yeah! I remember you. We made breakfast together; I like you."

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement," House noticed his pill bottle laying on its side on the nightstand. He moved closer to investigate.

"Is my mom there? She was supposed to pick me up from school." House picked up the orange container and peered inside. Quickly counting the pills he found that there were three less than there was supposed to be. The greedy woman must have taken them when he had fallen asleep. Shit. House brought his fingers to her neck to check her pulse. Three strong doses of Vicodin for a woman of her size could cause some adverse reactions. He hoped she hadn't taken anything else before she came to his apartment. When he felt the steady beat beneath his fingertips House gave an internal sigh of relief. She was just sleeping off the effects of the drugs. She would be for some time.

He spoke into the phone. "Your mom's asleep, and she won't be getting up for a while." House got off the bed to search for his pants. They were on the other side of the bed with his shirt and underwear.

"Oh." The kid's word was filled with such disappointment that House could easily imagine that small face's look. "Do you know when she'll be awake? I need her to pick me up from school." Then in a low whisper, "I think Mrs. Grace, my teacher, is mad that I'm still here. I'm the last one."

"Hold on a second, I'll see if I can wake her up." House put down the phone on the edge of the bed and shook the mom one more time. She rolled over but did not wake. House new that she would probably be asleep for the next couple of hours and when she did wake, she would be out of it for a while. A lot of Vicodin could do that to a person.

Already regretting what he was about to do, House grabbed his clothes and put them on. "Bran?"

"Yeah?"

"Your mom wants me to come pick you up. Put your teacher on and I'll get directions to your school." Oh, that bitch was so going to owe him.

"Okay!" House heard some background voices, but couldn't make out the words. He figured it was the kid asking the teacher to get on the phone. She did, and House got directions to the school. It was one about ten minutes away. He told the kid he would be there soon and gave waking the hooker another try. Nothing.

Leaving her in his bedroom, he retrieved his cane and thought about taking another pill. The pain wasn't too bad at the moment though, and he _would_ be taking a kid in his car. Being responsible was no fun.

However, once in his car House had to admit it had been a long time since he had driven it. After he purchased the motorcycle, driving his beautiful red car (given by Mob guy) hadn't been as appealing. Now that he was inside the red beauty again, he was glad to have a reason to drive it. Even he wouldn't take a child on his motorcycle; he wasn't stupid.

When he pulled into the school he saw a sign for parent pick-up. Making an educated guess, he drove in that direction. There was a half-circle drive that met a short side-walk. The entrance to the elementary school was at the end of the sidewalk. He slowed his car to stop parallel to the sidewalk and glass double doors. He waited a few seconds and then honked his horn. He wasn't getting out to pick the kid up.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman appeared; she turned around to talk to someone still inside the building. Whatever the person said must have been a satisfactory answer, because the next thing House knew was a small curly-head form was running towards his car.

Bran pressed his face against the window to make sure House was inside, and before House could say anything, or roll down the window, the kid was opening the passenger side door and hopping in.

"Thanksforpickingmeup.Ismymomokay?" The words came so fast out of the little body that House did a double take.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry. Sometimes I talk too fast. I said, 'thanks for picking me up. Is my mom okay?'" The boy put his battered blue backpack on the car floor and buckled his seatbelt.

"She's fine. She had a busy afternoon and fell asleep at my place." House pulled out of the school lot. He looked the boy over. He was wearing a worn green fleece a size too big and a pair of pink gloves. "Those are some interesting gloves you've got there. Already cross-dressing - they say that they know young."

"What?" The boy looked at House in confusion, and then down at his gloves; a light flush ran across his cheeks. He gave them a glare and took them off. "My mom's friend Tammy gave them to me. Sometimes she watches me when mom is working." The boy turned his head to look out the window. "Are we goin' back to your place to get mom?"

House thought about the sleeping woman; she wasn't likely to wake up anytime soon. Then he looked back at the little boy in his car and rolled his him. Why were children so helpless? "We are, but first we are going to get some dinner. Are you hungry?"

"Yes! It's been _forever _since I had lunch. It was a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup today, which I like, but I'm always hungry by the time school's over! Plus, I didn't have a snack for our practice today. Most of the other kids had snacks." The first part was said with enthusiasm, while the last with disappointment. "So, where are we going for dinner?"

House contemplated the boy for a moment and said, "Do you like Mexican?"

"Sure, I like Taco Bell."

House gave the boy an outraged expression. House loved junk food, but Taco Bell was not Mexican. "Taco Bell is not Mexican. Taco Bell is the lower end of fast-food. I'm going to take you to eat real Mexican food." And give mom time to sleep off the pills. "You do like spicy food right?"

"I love spicy food! One time I ate this green pepper that came on our pizza, and mom couldn't even be near it. But I picked it up and ate it down. It burned my mouth the whole time! It was so yummy!"

_So the kid liked spicy food, huh?_ House thought. Well at least he had some redeeming qualities. House would take the boy to his favorite Mexican restaurant and introduce him to the wonders of fried, spicy, Mexican food. Then possibly take him out for ice cream afterwards. Ice cream and Mexican food were a good combination. Besides, House had nothing else to do.


	5. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It was exactly one week before his ducklings called him for help on a case. He was actually surprised it hadn't been sooner, but then again maybe they hadn't had a case since his removal from the hospital. God knows they couldn't solve one on their own. It was Cameron who broke down first and called his cell. House wasn't surprised by this. When she believed something was right she followed her beliefs into hell. She thought that House's exile from the hospital for using Vicodin was less important than House's ability to figure out what was wrong with people. House just happened to agree with her. Still, Cuddy said he couldn't work if he didn't check himself into rehab. He wasn't in rehab; he was at home playing video games. So he told Cameron he couldn't help and hung up the phone. He knew she would be calling back or possibly even stop over his apartment to beg him to help. She showed up an hour later knocking at his door.

He invited her in, read over the file she handed him, and gave it back. "Interesting case, but I can't help you."

"House, this girl is _dying_. She's only twelve, for God's sake. You have to help." Cameron emphasized her point by thrusting out her arm (the one holding the file) on each word. House was quite amused by this.

"I would to love help, but I can't. Mommy says I've been a bad boy and I'm not allowed to play anymore."

"House, can't you just forget Cuddy for a moment and help this child in need. You _are_ a doctor, and doctors _do_ help people for a living."

"I'm a doctor? Are you sure? Oh my God, I never knew! _That's_ why I work in a hospital. Well, used to work anyway."

"House!" It was obvious that Cameron was frustrated.

"Figure it out on your own. Or get Cuddy to let me back. Either or. Whatever you think is best." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Why can't you just check yourself into rehab? It will get Cuddy off your back and allow you to work again. I know that you must be dying of boredom with no puzzle to solve."

"I don't need rehab, and I'm not bored at all." Cameron raised her eyes at this and opened her mouth to reply, but House cut her off by opening the front door wide and saying, "now if you would be so kind as to leave, I have a date to meet."

"You have a date? At four in the afternoon?" House got immense satisfaction at the surprised and slightly hurt look on her face.

"Yep." He ushered her out the door and waved to her as she left his building. This was turning out to be a great afternoon. His favorite episode of General Hospital had run, he would probably be reinstated at the hospital by the end of the week (due to Cameron's unbearable stubbornness) and he had a legitimate excuse to enter a toy store.

Shortly after Cameron left he got in his red baby and made his way to what he assumed was one of the lower levels of Hell - Brookmont Elementary School.

He pulled up in the same place he did before - parallel to the school's front doors - and put his car into park. Today there were a dozen or so other cars idly waiting for the little terrors to come outside. Several crazy looking parents (they looked crazy to House) stood outside their cars and vans shifting their weight from foot to foot in anticipation for their little ones. Stupid people; it wasn't like standing outside of their vehicles would make their children appear any faster.

A few minutes had passed. _Now_ House was bored; he wished he had brought his Game-Boy. How long was he going to have to wait in the small parking lot of the grayish-yellow school for a kid that wasn't even his? Eventually a stream of children appeared from the building and House watched as parents rushed up to meet their offspring. He just waited until his curly-headed kindergartener came to his car. House did get a wave and large smile however when the boy spotted his red beauty.

Just as last time the boy came around to the passenger side door and got in. Today he was sporting the same green fleece and a pair of faded jeans. The pink gloves were gone. "No girly gloves today." This was said around a cherry-flavored blow-pop.

The curls shook as the head moved from side to side. The boy's blue eyes were glued to House's mouth. "Can I have a sucker?"

"I dunno, can you?" House took the sugary treat out to look at it. The boy's eyes followed it like a hawk would a mouse. "Hey, is my tongue red?" A giggle and a nod. House rolled his eyes at the boy's reaction. "Oh, I suppose I could let you have one. But you can't have cherry. They're my favorite."

"Thanks! I like cherry too, but I like sour apple the best." House leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Inside was his treasure - a half-full bag of blow-pops. He nodded to the bag.

"Go ahead and take one." The boy reached out his hand and grabbed the bag. "Remember, no cherry."

"No cherry, got it." The boy searched a while longer and when he found the one the wanted, sour apple, he put the bag back. Unwrapping the thing took precise concentration and House took the opportunity to leave the Hell - zone and get on the highway. Finally, when the boy had gotten the wrapper off the candy and onto the stick he popped it into his mouth. "Mmmm, our-pple."

House gave an internal smile. Children were so easy to please. They drove in silence, both sucking and licking contently on their afternoon treats. When they got to their destination House parked in the first space and turned off the car. Opening his door he grabbed his cane and stepped out into the cold-air. He pulled the zipper up on his coat as far as it would go and turned around to get the kid.

House was pleasantly surprised when the young boy was already out of the car and standing next to him. "You move fast."

"My mom says it's important not to be slow. Hey, how come you parked in the blue space? I thought those were for special people."

Unwilling to stand out in the cold and have this conversation, House started walking to the large building a few hundred yards away. The kid walked fast to keep up. "I am a special person." When the boy just looked at him expecting more House sighed loudly. "God, you're so demanding. See," House waved his cane, "I'm handicapped. The blue spaces are for handicapped people. Therefore I am special."

"Oh." They had come to the large set of double doors. It was quite outside, but once they entered a blast of noise overwhelmed them. Bran quickly looked around and ran up to House's free hand and took hold.

"What's this?"

"Mom always holds my hand when we go to the mall. She said it's easy to get lost or kidnapped here."

House thought that was a little hypocritical of mom. _Hold my hand at the mall so the bad guys won't get you, but I'll leave you at some strange man's house so I can go have sex or party_. He kept the thought to himself. "So what's first, cookies from the Cookie Palace or the toy store."

"We get to have cookies too? Sweet!" The little hand clenched House's in excitement. Then his little brows scrunched up as if he was in deep thought.

"Tough decision?" House had meant it sarcastically, but the boy nodded in agreement.

Bran's right forefinger came up to his mouth and tapped a few times. A great strategy for decision making. "I think I want to go to the toy store first and look at the toys, and then eat a cookie before we leave. Is that okay?" He looked up at House for approval.

"Sounds good to me. Let's go." The pair made their way over to the escalator and went upstairs. The toy store was at the end of the moving stairs. It was full of playing children and browsing parents. House let go of Bran's hand as the boy made a beeline to the large train set on the floor. House watched for a minute as the boy played then moved to the front counter to look at Game-Boy games.

House had gotten the idea to come to the toy store over Mexican dinner. Bran had told House that sometimes his mom brought him to this store so he could play with the trains. Apparently the boy loved trains. When the duo had came back from dinner and ice cream, Mom was up. As she got dressed House had overheard the pair talking about Friday's after school practice and how mom couldn't pick the boy up so he couldn't go. The boy had gotten upset and before House knew what was happening he was somehow agreeing to pick the boy up again. Then he was offering to take the boy to the toy store. After the hooker and her child had left, House seriously thought about checking himself into a mental ward. He had to be going crazy.

At the counter of the store House found two exiting new games to play - the newest Crash Bandicoot and something called Contra Advance: The Alien Wars, which just sounded cool. After purchasing his games, which only took seven minutes, House decided he would have a look around the rest of the store, maybe he could find a new ball, or possibly a yo-yo.

He did find a new ball. It was purple and green and bounded incredibly well. He also found a mushy goop ball that small balls popped out of when squeezed against the thin skin holding the entire thing together. House wanted that one too; it was too good to pass up. Then on his way past the book aisle some bright colors caught his eye. He remembered the first time the boy had been in his house he had been looking (or possible reading) a brightly colored book. Looking over the covers of the book House had to grin at one specific one. Picking up the book he added to his pile of 'things he wanted.' Then on a second thought added another book as well.

Going back to cash register was a nightmare. He swore that everyone chose that moment to buy their toys. He waited impatiently, and even used his cane to batter some of the less outgoing people out of line. He bought his new items and then went to pick up the kid.

The boy was still sitting cross-legged on the floor with a train in each hand. His mouth was attempting to make train noises and he had a wide grin on his face.

"Hey," House tapped him with his cane. "I'm ready for my cookie now." He shook his plastic bag of toys at the boy. The boy gave the toys in his hands a sorrowful look, but put them back onto the train tracks. Standing up he quietly walked out of the store with House.

When they had made it safely to the Cookie Palace, the boy's sad face was gone and a smile was in place once more. "Thanks for letting me play with the trains! They are so cool. I wish I could go on a train."

House led the chatting six year-old to the cookie display. He pointed to the multitude of rainbow cookies available for consumption. "Which one do you want?" This stopped the boy mid-chat and he pressed his face against the glass counter. House grinned when he saw the breath and finger marks the boy left behind. Then he put his own hand against the glass. The bag in his hand rustled and clanked as it tapped against the glass. He motioned to the server with his head. "I'll have the double fudge brownie." He looked towards Bran. "You?"

"Ummm, I want the peanut-butter cookie." House ordered the cookie and led the boy over to a small table. House ate his brownies in a few bites, but the boy took tiny little nips and seemed to savor every piece. At least he made soft 'mmmm' noises after each bite.

"Enjoying your cookie? You sound like a dog in heat."

"What does that mean?"

House looked a little baffled at the question and said, "Uh, nothing." And at the boy's disbelieving stare added, "Hey look, I bought you something."

"You bought me something? What? Why?" The cookie forgotten, the boy reached out his hands in excitement. House turned a little red at the boy's obvious pleasure. He didn't even know what he had bought yet. Opening the bag House took out the two books he had bought the boy. The first book was blue with a red train on the front. It was titled "Trains, Trains and More Trains." It was a non-fiction picture book about trains. The boy was completely ecstatic. He immediately read the cover then flipped though the pictures. He read a few of the captions under some of the more eye-catching photographs then turned his head to gush up at House.

"This is so cool. It's the best gift ever. Like ever. Thank you so much!" Then he did something completely unexpected and got out of his seat and hugged House hard. House was unprepared for this possibility and quickly moved out of the hug. "Hey look, I got you another book too." He handed the boy the other book. This one was white and had a picture of a blobby germ on the front. It was titled "The Common Cold and Other Interesting Diseases." The boy took this book with just as much excitement as the first. When he read the title confused expression appeared on his face, but then he smiled again. "This is like what you do. Like doctor stuff. Sweet! I can't wait to read it!" He flipped though the pictures in this book as well. Then he hugged House once more.

House couldn't help the feeling of pleasure that swept though his body at the boy's statement and action. Bran liked the books he had picked out. He liked the disease book. House was a good book picker-outer. Letting the boy sit in the space next to him, House spent the next thirty minutes reading and explaining the disease book. It wasn't hard to admit that it was one of the best dates he had ever been on.


	6. Chapter 9

Woohoo!!! an update!!!!!

A heart-felt thanks to my beta becky :)

Chapter 9

"This isn't my choice." Cuddy's voice was firm and her expression grim. "_Somehow_ Collin McWade heard…" Cuddy stopped at House's look. "Collin McWade, the millionaire who donates tens of thousands of dollars to this hospital ever year?"

"Ahh, that Collin McWade."

"You still have no idea who he is, do you?"

"Nope."

"He's the man whose daughter you diagnosed with lupus last year. She presented the disease unusually…" House still wore a blank look. "She's blonde, big boobs…"

"Ah, Collin McWade. Ugly man, beautiful daughter. His wife must have cheated on him."

"Yes, well despite your opinion of him, he has a high opinion of you. He somehow heard that you had been suspended from the hospital and demanded your return. He made his funding dependent on you actively working here."

"Collin McWade, a brilliant man." House smirked gleefully. He tapped his cane on her desk. "So, got any cases for me?"

"House, I am not happy with this situation. I don't think you should be working. You are a brilliant doctor, but you are also crippled."

House looked at his leg. "I'm crippled? Oh my God, when did that happen?"

"You know that's not what I meant. You're crippled by the drugs. You'll do anything to get high. That makes you dangerous."

"Dangerous, shmangerous. I take pain medication because I have pain. Must I always remind you of that?" This conversation was beginning to sound familiar. "Besides didn't we already agree to disagree about this? I seem to remember something about you yelling at me about my yummies."

"House…"

"With that said, I'll take my leave. I have to go be a doctor now. Who knows what my underlings did while I was away?" His point made, House limped to the glass doors.

As he was half-in, half-out Cuddy said one last thing. "I don't know if you are lying to everyone else, or just lying to yourself. But either way you have a problem. I will be watching you."

House's shoulders tensed but he said nothing. Never turning back, House made his way to his office. He had animal cookies to steal and a new ball to break in.

The next week was pretty normal for House. He bothered and teased his underlings because they had no cases, and then a flurry of activity, heavy thinking and intense diagnostic sessions when a case suddenly appeared. He left every night that week feeling content and smug that he had his job back. Then, he went into work and made that stupid bet with Cuddy. Ten dollars per clinic patient he diagnosed without touching. It had been too good to take. Then came Eve. Rape patients were people he tried to avoid, even more than normal patients.

After his day with her, he left the hospital feeling heavy. Dealing with normal rape victims was not his thing, and Eve was by no means normal. Though he guessed there wasn't a predetermined way someone should act once they had been violated, so maybe she was normal after all. He really couldn't tell. He wasn't quite sure how she had managed to coax the truth out of him, though he thought it had something to do with pity. He had never told anyone about the abuse he had suffered at his father's hands. It had been a well-kept secret until it somehow slipped out of his lips.

He drove home in the sun, and felt slighted by its perky rays. He hated thinking about his father, and he _loathed_ talking about him. He tried to take some comfort in the fact that he had revealed his secrets in a noble attempt gain an abused woman's trust, but then the thought snuck in that his action s hadn't been noble at all. They had been selfish. He wanted the girl out of sight. _Out of sight, out of mind; as the saying_ _goes_, he thought. The quickest way to accomplish his goal was to be honest. He had never been good at telling the truth; not when lying had always been more fun.

When he got home he ate a chocolate Pop-Tarts and Easy-Mac dinner. Popping a pill after his last bite left him feeling pleasantly buzzed but still anxious, as if Cameron would show up any minute wanting to comfort him for having a bad childhood. It wasn't a big deal; lots of children had bad childhoods. It was one of the universal truths; many people didn't know how to be parents and fucked up their children's lives because of it.

House couldn't keep his mind off of today's case. He started thinking about Eve, her rape, her fanatic desire to keep the fetus, and his own revelation to almost a complete stranger. It was a tormenting cycle of thoughts. Then there was a knock on his door. He hoped it was Wilson, but since they had yet to make up he doubted it.

Opening the door, he was slightly surprised to see his hooker. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, I was in the neighborhood and I had some free time. I thought I would come over and work off some of the debt I owe you." House looked at her for a moment and lifted an eyebrow. He doubted she was 'in the neighborhood' and 'had some free time,' and what prostitute voluntarily offered someone free sex? However, since she was offering, he would take. An orgasm would keep his mind occupied.

Moving away from the door House left her the responsibility of closing it. He went directly into his bedroom and unbuttoned his pants. It was only once he was leaning against his headboard that House looked to see where the hooker was. She had come into the bedroom, but stood still against his dresser. "Well? What are you waiting for? Instructions?" He patted his thigh near his groin and continued, "You can start with some sucking, or licking, I like the occasional licking."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and got onto the bed. Kicking off her black, pointed shoes she said, "You're in a weird mood today. What happened - somebody die at work?"

Her words left him feeling uncomfortable. If the hooker could see how off he was, what did he seem like to those who knew him? Pushing those thoughts aside he responded, "Yes, I'm the one acting strange. You're the hooker offering free sex. It's a complete contradiction." She looked up at him but said nothing; House thought that was her wisest moment yet.

After the sex, which did indeed take his mind off Eve and himself, House reached for his bed-side supply of vicodin. He swallowed a pill dry and contemplated getting up to get a soda. He didn't. "Hey, can I have a pill?"

House looked at her like she had just told him Foreman and Wilson had had sex, "No."

"But last time you gave me some."

"And you were a naughty girl and took extra while I wasn't looking. You passed out in my bed for almost six hours."

She slide off the bed and started to put on her clothes. "I took, like, one extra. It wasn't my fault - I was sleepy!"

House mimicked her Valley - girl pattern of speech "You took like four extra, and probably put some in your pocket for like later, like."

"You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?" Huffing angrily, she looked for her shoes. She spotted one at the side of the bed, but couldn't find the other. "Where the fuck is my other shoe?"

"Someone's in a crabby mood." House did a quick once over of the room. Seeing a flash of misplaced black he pointed. "It's by the dresser."

Keeping one foot on the floor and the other on the bed to balance herself, the redhead laced up her shoe. "You know I come over here, out of my own goodwill, and have sex with your pathetic ass, and what does it get me? Nothing, that's what!" She switched feet to put on the other shoe. "You have sharing issues, you know that?"

A bit surprised at her irritability, House took a closer look at her. As she pulled the black strings of her shoes tight he noticed the whiteness of her knuckles and the tightness of her face. He shook the pill bottle. "It doesn't matter whether I have sharing issues or not. These babies are mine. My name is on the prescription bottle, not yours. They are for people in pain, who say… have had infarctions in their legs." He looked at her long legs, "Which obviously you do not have."

"I just don't understand why you won't give me one pill. You gave me some before. It's not that big of deal. Besides I am in pain. I have a headache."

"You take aspirin for a headache, not Vicodin."

She was fully dressed now and the anger was gone from her face. She stepped close and put her hand on House's chest. He moved so his legs were sitting off the edge of the bed and was sitting up. Her hand never moved. "I have a really bad headache. You could even call it a migraine." The word migraine was whispered into his ear followed by a hint of tongue on his jaw.

He leaned into her ear and whispered back, "I'm not giving you any of my pills."

She pulled away, "Fine, I guess I'll be going then." She moved away from the bed and picked up his pant where they had been flung on the floor. She started patting down the pockets.

House got up. "Hey what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for my payment. A hundred and fifty for sex."

House grabbed her hand and took away his pants before she could get his wallet. "Nu-uh. It was free sex. Besides the fact you came here yourself, you owe me so many freebies for taking care of your son, I won't be paying you for the next year." Her eyes narrowed in anger at him.

"Or I could just leave and never come back. Then you won't have any free sex." The 'ha, take that' was left unsaid.

"Well, you could do that. But I could also call the police and tell them I know a strung out whore who gets high on anything she can get her hands on,," still holding on to her hand, he turned her arm so that her palm was facing up, "including heroin." He took his other hand and pushed two fingers into the crook of her elbow. "Not to mention I could call social services and tell them what a great mother you are- leaving you child with complete strangers, Hell leaving your child with people who pay you for sex, and of course endangering his life because of your drug use."

Yanking her hand back she cursed at him. "Fuck you. You are just like every other man I know. Domineering and a complete bastard." With that said she stormed out his bedroom making sure to slam both the bedroom door and the front door on her way out.

House sat still on his bed contemplating what just happened. His hooker was a junkie. He felt surprised - not that she was a junkie, but that he hadn't noticed it sooner. He wasn't a renowned diagnostician just because he was a nice guy. He was brilliant at his job; he was brilliant at noticing things about people that they hid or tried to hide. _Why hadn't I noticed her drug habits before?_ he thought. _Maybe, I just didn't care enough to look. _The thought shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. It was true. He didn't care about most people. Hell, he didn't care about most of his patients, so why did the thought of not caring about this woman bother him? As soon as he thought the question, a vivid image of a laughing little boy with blue eyes filled his mind.


	7. Chapter 10

Again, a thanks goes out to my beta Becky.

Feedback please 

**Chapter 10**

Weeks passed without the hooker in his life, and House found that he rarely thought about her, or her offspring. Lately, he had so many interesting and exciting cases that life once again revolved around the puzzles of the sick. He solved the cases of a girl who felt no pain, a man who was an idiot-savant (_and_ who played the piano like a god), and a soldier who showed up in his dreams but was really a blast from Cuddy's past. Life was completely back to normal - House annoyed Cuddy, Wilson, and his minions on a daily basis, and they put up with it because he was brilliant, if eccentric.

The return of his comforting routine was probably why House was sleeping peacefully in his firm, warm bed (well, that and the intake of some yellowish pills). The only sign of life from his motionless body was the steady rise and fall of the black and maroon Ramones t-shirt and the chest beneath it. An orange, half-filled container of Vicodin rested atop the mahogany nightstand. The clock next to the pills read 4:33 AM in bright red numbers. The alarm wasn't set, but when the Vicodin had run its course through House's body, he would wake up.

Unfortunately for House, he didn't get to sleep during the Vicodin's run. A loud, continuous booming woke him up. Not opening his eyes, House shouted out: "Fuck off," and tried to go back to sleep. Either whoever was making the noise didn't hear him, or they just ignored him, because the booming didn't stop. Sitting up, but still not opening his eyes, House reached out and grabbed his Vicodin bottle. Bringing the cap-less bottle to his mouth, House didn't open his eyes until one of the pills had made its way into his mouth and down his throat. Blue eyes finally showing, the cranky man reached down and picked his cane up from the floor where it had fallen from its resting place, the night stand.

Pressing his cane into the beige carpet of his bedroom, House walked to his closed door and pushed it open with his free hand. The booming sound became louder. Standing still in the frame of bedroom door, House took a moment to look around the living room to see if he could find the source of the horrendous sound. After a moment, he realized it was coming from the front door. Someone was knocking frantically and forcefully. House could see, even through his sleep-hazed eyes that the door rattled with the force of each knock.

Before making a decision to open the door or not, House thought: _I wonder if I could buy a padded front door. That way when people knocked I wouldn't hear it. _He made the decision to go answer the door and get rid of whoever was there as fast as possible. He had been having a great dream involving Cuddy and Cameron mud-wrestling when the noise had woken him up. When House pulled open the door he almost got a kick to his shin for his trouble.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing kicking my…" House's question and nasty tone faded as he took in the sight standing in the hallway of his apartment building. His sleepy haze was suddenly ripped away. Fat tears dripped down the hooker's face and watery black lines ran from her eyes to her chin. Braced against her left hip was an unconscious Bran, her arms wrapped tightly around his body. _Which explained why she had been kicking his door, _House thought. Blood was trickling out of the boy's swollen nose onto her dark purple tank-top. The boy's head was resting against her shoulder, and the eye House could see almost matched the color of his mother's shirt. Bran's left arm rested on the nape of his mother's neck and his right hung loosely against the side of his body. It looked dislocated, possibly broken. House couldn't see any other injuries, but the tension lines in the boy's forehead told House that he was feeling pain. House didn't know if the boy was asleep or passed out from the pain, but he was glad the boy wasn't conscious. Pain wasn't a pleasant companion.

"Put him on the couch."

She nodded, and House quickly made his way into the kitchen. Spotting his leather jacket hanging on a chair, he reached out and picked it up. As he felt the pockets for his cell phone he called out: "Once he's on the couch, come in here and get a towel, a bowl of water and an ice pack from the freezer."

Cane in one hand and cell phone in the other, House limped into the living room. The red-headed woman was crouching beside her son at the edge of the couch gently running her fingers over his brow. The boy was laying length-wise, his curls barely touching the armrest. When House saw the mother and son he said: "Prop his head up on the armrest. Bunch the blanket under his head. We don't want him to choke on his own blood. Then go get the towel , bowl, and ice pack."

Her tears had stopped, but she was still sniffling when she asked, "What are you going to do?"

"While you are doing what I told you, I'm going to call an ambulance."

"An ambulance? I brought him here because you're a doctor! I don't want to go to the hospital." One of her hands came up to her face to wipe at the black mascara lines and tear tracks.

"Yes, I'm a doctor, but I can't miraculously heal broken arms and noses." Now that House was close to the boy, he could hear little raspy noises each time the boy took a breath. He added to his diagnoses. "And probably broken ribs. We need to get him to the hospital to get X-rays and cast."

She looked at him for a moment, seeming to be engaged in an internal debate. Her gaze moved from House to her boy and she nodded. She ran into the kitchen. House flipped open his phone and dialed 911. When the operator asked for his emergency House explained the situation in a steady voice and gave his address when prompted. When he hung up his phone, the hooker - the mom- was there with a large kitchen towel and ice pack in one hand, and a small bowl filled with warm water in the other.

House grabbed the towel and sat down on a small piece of couch next to the boy. Reaching out, he dipped the towel into the water. Squeezing out the excess, he gently wiped the blood from the boy's face. "Put the water and ice pack on the armrest, and go open the door. Wait for the EMTs to show up." His voice left no room for argument and she did as told.

While he cleaned up the blood with one hand, House took the boy's pulse with the other. He felt a strong, steady beat and unintentionally left out a sigh of relief. Picking up the ice pack, he gently placed it over the black eye. House got off as much of the blood as he could from Bran's face. Once the blood was gone, House could identify another bruise forming around the boy's chin. Moving his hand up, House hovered it a centimeter from the skin as though he were about to grip the boy. The bruise was a shadow of his hand.

Caught up in his annoyance and disgust, it took a second to register that two EMTs hand entered his apartment. "Sir, can you please move out of the way. We need to get to the boy."

House picked up his cane from where he had placed it against the couch and stood up. He spoke to the EMTs as they checked the boy's vitals and neck, and moved him from the couch to the long, red stretcher. "I'm Dr. House. His breathing is shallow, but his pulse is steady. His ribs are mostly likely broken; his nose as well. His right arm is injured - dislocated and possibly broken." As House named each injury, the medics checked each place. Bran's mother hovered off to the side, her arms crossed and eyes watery.

With an EMT at each end, they lifted the stretcher and boy. House and the anxious mother followed the two men out. The one in the front spoke to Mom. "We'll take him to the hospital and get him fixed up, ma'am. You and your husband can ride in the back with George here." _George being the other EMT_, House assumed.

"He's not my husband," she sniffed. "He's just a friend of mine."

They reached the ambulance and moved the boy inside. George reached out a hand to the woman and helped her aboard. When House reached out a hand to be helped George gave him a confused look and shook his head.

"I'm sorry sir, but you aren't family. You can't come with us." At House's dark look, George quickly continued, "But please feel free to follow us to the hospital."

"George, is it?" House hit his cane light against George's shins. George just looked down at House uncomfortably. "Well George, since I'm a doctor at the hospital you're about to rush this boy to, and I am like this," House held up crossed middle and index fingers, "with the Dean of Medicine, I think it would be in your best interest to take me along."

George looked over his shoulder at his companion for guidance. "Hey Mike…"

Mike never looked up, his attention focused on Bran. "Let him on. I recognize Dr. House's name. He's the head of the diagnostic department." Mike was obviously the smarter of the two.

George reached out a hand and helped House into the ambulance. Taking the driver's seat, George flipped on the sirens again and sped towards the hospital. As they whipped by the passing cars, House thought: _Gotta love something that can break the rules of traffic and not get in trouble for it. I have to remember to catch a ride on an ambulance the next time I'm late for work. _

Mike was on one side of the kid. He was checking over the still passed-out boy, and talking into his radio. House and the mother sat on the other side. Mom's hands were playing with the edge of her shorts. Her eyes were glues to her hands. House looked at her hands and mentally snorted. _Shorts in this weather. She's such a whore._ His gaze shifted from the red-head to her son. The boy looked pale, and without the blood on his face the bruises were more vivid than ever. Suddenly, House sat up straighter and he thought: _Why hasn't he woken up? All of the movement from the apartment to the ambulance should have jostled him awake. If not that, then the EMT's actions should have awoken him. _

Apparently the EMT had the same thoughts as House, for he turned his attention to the mother and asked: "Did you give him anything? He should be waking up,"

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. Sniffling, she replied: "Yeah, he was in pain so I gave him some aspirin. Was I not supposed to?"

House turned to her and said: "You're an idiot."

Mike looked at her and asked how many aspirin she gave Bran and how many milligrams were in each.

She held up four fingers and said, "I think 250."

Mike spoke into the radio again. "The boy's coming in with a heavy stomach. He was given four aspirin, about 1000 milligrams total. A pump might me needed."

George pulled the big, red and white vehicle into the emergency zone of the hospital. Mike popped open the back door and helped move Bran onto the waiting stretcher of some Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital nurses. The white-dressed nurses whisked Bran away into the hospital. Mike helped Mom and House out, listened to something said over the radio, and said: "If you follow me I can take you to the waiting room and a nurse will explain what's going to happen next."

"Okay." The red-head quickly walked behind the EMT and House tried to keep up. He was fighting the temptation to throw his cane at the hooker and knock her to the ground. _Why were people so stupid?_ House thought. As soon as he got to the waiting room of the emergency center he was going to get some answers. The red-headed whore better be ready.


End file.
